


bury me in the flowerbed of your heart (for i am the only one who truly wished to be there)

by peupeugunn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Space, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peupeugunn/pseuds/peupeugunn
Summary: He thinks of two boys huddled together in the darkest corners of what should have been their home, whispering stories of valor and courage and strength, stories where the underdogs and the tiny, shy children who had no business fighting wars triumphed over evil.He thinks of an older boy who rightly shouldn't have given him the time of day, whose eyes were dark with juvenile heartbreak but sharp with intelligence. He thinks of the boy with a black eye who grasped his hand when offered and said, "I owe you one, and I make it a point to never fail when favours are asked of me." He thinks of a friendship that faded with time, but of the love that had always lingered.[This is how you win a war. Not just with love and bravery, but with a sacrifice.]





	bury me in the flowerbed of your heart (for i am the only one who truly wished to be there)

**_06:15_ **

“Hey, Sev,” he rasps. His breathing is even and shallow, drowned out by the rush of blood thrumming in his ears. “By the time you get this message, well,” he laughs softly, reigning back the hysteria carefully, “it'll be far too late for you to do anything.”

An arm reaches out, and flicks a switch. The frantic red lights that had previously been blinking turn green and he smiles. Numbers and letters, blurred nearly beyond recognition, float across the window, momentarily obscuring his view of the void of space. It calms him, his voice, his little confession, because he knows that for once in his life he's doing what's _right_ instead of what's _easy_. And that thought, it makes his throat tighten and eyes burn with longing for a family that never truly existed. _I'm sorry I never listened, and I'm sorry you didn't try harder to make me, big brother._

“Rationing does nothing if you didn't start out with much in the first place, I've learned. The water purification system was damaged in- never mind, you'll find out soon enough—and I've got about three hours worth of air left so you better listen carefully.” He closes his eyes for a moment and wills himself to focus on his mission, rather than the phantom childlike laughter that echoes through his mind, or the wisps of not-quite-curly black locks lingering at the edges of his sight.

_**05:43** _

“I've got a favour to ask of you, Sev. It's a _riddle_ , and an almost impossible task for you to complete.” His fingers dance over the keyboard, and it takes all he has to make sure they don't shake. “I'm sorry for this, I really am, but you _can't_ fail. Not at this.”

He thinks of two boys huddled together in the darkest corners of what should have been their home, whispering stories of valor and courage and strength, stories where the underdogs and the tiny, shy children who had no business fighting wars triumphed over evil. He thinks of an older boy who rightly shouldn't have given him the time of day, whose eyes were dark with juvenile heartbreak but sharp with intelligence. He thinks of the boy with a black eye who grasped his hand when offered and said, _I owe you one, and I make it a point to never fail when favours are asked of me_. He thinks of a friendship that faded with time, but of the love that had always lingered.

**_05:01_ **

“Do you,” he begins with uncharacteristic hesitance, “do you remember when you told me about those flowers you'd always wanted to grow? _Dilacerant_ , they were called, if I remember correctly. Well, I found some—I'm sending you the coordinates right now—but,” he pauses, and his next words are more solemn. “I need you to destroy them. All of them. You won't be able to do it alone, and I don't want you to but- I didn't count them, Sev, but I know there are more than you'd expect.”

_**04:28** _

He lets himself breathe deeply, and drops his hands to his lap, fists clenched tightly.

“When it's done—and I know you, you'll destroy them _thoroughly_ —” he says, his certainty and resolve ringing through the empty room, “make sure you don't follow in my footsteps. _Run_ , Severus. It doesn't matter where you go as long as you're safe and _alive_ , just run, and remember—” he chokes slightly on the lump in his throat and unshed tears.

_Remember that, even after I'm gone, you still have friends, real friends, and they'll help you, they'll save you like I saved myself_ , he wants to say.

_Remember that I love you_ , he doesn't say.

“—remember me,” he says instead, his entire body shaking with the force it takes him to hold back his silent sobs.

_**03:11** _

Eventually, he finds the strength to raise his head to stare at the ceiling. “Stop recording, Kreacher. Send it to Severus Snape,” he orders unsteadily, when he finds his voice.

“Yes, Master Regulus,” Kreacher's old, robotic voice sounds from the speakers in the corners of the tiny spaceship. Oddly enough, the AI sounds pained. “Should I send the package, sir?” Kreacher asks, and Regulus straightens up in surprise far too quickly, and has to fight off the dizzy spell. He'd nearly forgotten about the blasted package that has cost him everything.

“Yes,” he affirms, “send it.” His eyes on the timer, he sits back down, and all his aches and pains make themselves known. His head hits the wall with a _thump_ , and he winces, closing his eyes so he won't have to see the time he has left flit by too quickly.

_“Thank you,”_ he says, trying to convey the sheer volume of his gratitude in three words. It's not enough, and it never will be, but it's all he has.

“You're welcome, sir.” The words are accompanied by the faintest mechanical whirring. It sounds distant, though he knows that the docking bay is barely a metre away from him. He doesn't look, but if he did he would see the only undamaged escape shuttle make its way through the inky darkness.

“Good night, Kreacher,” he breathes, as though this is one of the many nights he spent staring up at the stars with wonder in his eyes. His eyes remain closed, but his breaths are coming quicker, shorter. He's panicking, he knows, but Regulus can't make himself stop. He wonders whether his family would mourn him. Sirius might, if he ever found out, and so would Andy. Cissy might, when no one's looking. His parents, and Bellatrix, they wouldn't. They'd know what he did, why he died, all alone in the cold.

It's a sobering thought, that his last words to another living being would inspire a man- tiny and insignificant in the grand scheme of things- into a rebellion that would definitely get him killed. But if Severus manages to complete his task, well. Even the smallest of rebellions could end a war. The thought, for some reason, makes him feel like laughing. So laugh he does, loudly and deliriously, till it becomes too difficult to breathe.

_**0:03** _

His eyes blink open, slow and careful, and he stares at the numbers in front of him.

_**0:02** _

Space is dark, but even in the relative safety of his battered and worn ship, he is so unbearably _cold_.

_**0:01** _

He's fulfilled his task, and he's done his duty to the world. He knows he will never find himself in any sort of Heaven, but his actions have probably made sure he will never land up in Hell.

So why is it that he's so horribly afraid? He allows himself a moment to ponder over it, and then— _oh_.

_I don't want to die._

_**0:00** _

 

 

* * *

 

 

Four months later, and half a galaxy away, Severus Snape stares at the screen in front of him, fists clenched tightly enough at his sides that he can feel skin break. The words of his old friend ( _his dead friend_ ) echo in his mind as he begins to piece together the puzzle with what few clues Regulus gave him.

He swipes away the image that had been sent with the voice recording (a _locket_ of all things) and finds himself staring at coordinates. Two sets of them. _Dilacerant_ , he thinks, and if Regulus had been hinting at what Severus thinks he might have been, then… He thinks of the hushed plans made by the Dark Lord that Severus hadn't particularly wished to be privy to, and of Bellatrix's rage-filled rants about the Longbottoms and the Potters and how they will be _punished_ by the Dark Lord for their treachery to their blood.

“Lily,” he calls out to his AI, “send a message to Albus Dumbledore through a secure line. Tell him that I've reconsidered his offer.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Yes Snape did, in fact, name his AI after the woman he is very creepily in love with.]


End file.
